When Ezra Met Eleanor
by TerriTrek
Summary: In answer to a comment on The Baby Shower, how did Team Seven meet Eleanor...Could be considered a prequel to Too Quiet and The Baby Shower, but can stand alone.


When Ezra Met Eleanor...

By Terri "Tex" Zavaleta

Spending most of a week in a surveillance van, even when the weather wasn't horrible, no one was smoking, and it wasn't overly crowded... was still no one's choice of assignment. Add to that the lack of comfort, bad food, boredom, and the element of failure and it really was no wonder Team Seven was beginning to show signs of irritability and impatience.

The frustration continued to grow as research, observation, experience, and instinctive responses all led to the same conclusion: Rudy Masso was engaged in criminal activities, no matter how well hidden, and there was something rotten going on in that building.

However, in order to prove it, someone needed to either gain entry to the building—Lord knows it had been tried many times and to the limits of ingenuity—or they needed to find someone who had access to the building and pump them for information. So far, nothing had worked.

Knowing just how well his team dealt with frustration, with tempers beginning to fray, Chris had called them all back into the office for a meeting in the conference room to stave off a meltdown. They took all the files and the pictures their surveillance had produced of those entering and leaving the building over the course of the last few days to go over their findings in hope of stimulating a new idea or angle.

Larabee began, "Okay, so delivery people are limited to the lobby. No unexpected deliveries are accepted."

JD had gotten a name off the directory in the lobby and attempted to deliver a pizza to an office on the top floor but had been stopped at the front desk when the receptionist had insisted on the name of the person who'd ordered and called up to ask Ashley Moreton to come downstairs if he wanted his pizza. JD had pretended to find he had the wrong name and address and left at once.

"Not even to the mail room," Buck groused. It had been his idea to try something he'd seen on a television episode of Leverage... but the package containing a smart phone that JD could use to access the Wi-fi in the building evidently had been intercepted and destroyed.

"Every person going into the building has to have a photo ID and maintenance or repair men have a security guard with them at all times," Vin mumbled. His attempt at gaining access as an exterminator hadn't worked. He hadn't gotten past the lobby either. "They know we're watchin'. They're laughin' at us. When does Ez get back?"

"What? You think we need him?" Jackson asked.

"He's sneaky," Vin replied. "JD and me burned our identities there already and didn't get nothin' for the effort."

Larabee shrugged. "He asked for a week, but you know how it goes when Ezra visits Maude. Either she'll have some use for his 'God-given talents' which will drag him into some convoluted mess that will take two weeks to unravel-OR she'll piss him off, he'll refuse whatever she's offering, and he'll be back sooner than expected."

"Mr. Larabee," Standish drawled, as he came in the conference room door as if on cue. "I was unaware of your secondary occupation as a prophet," He looked physically undamaged by his time away, if a bit tired. From the slightly rumpled state of his blue pin-striped suit, he had come to the office straight from the airport. After a flutter of greetings and welcomes, the Southerner sank into his usual chair with a contented sigh. "If the occasion arises again, gentlemen, please remind me to _never_ answer another summons from _that woman_."

"That woman is your mother," Josiah rebuked.

"Do not remind me. I'm endeavoring to forget her latest conquest and its subsequent complications, though it did give me an opportunity to refresh my memory of the statue of limitations for certain activities. Fortunately, this time it did not devolve into a brawl." He held up a hand towards Sanchez. "Do not ask. You really don't want to know. Oh, and I also had a brief but memorable conference with Interpol at one point—Agent Moselle sends his regards to all, but enough trivialities. As I approached the room, I believe I heard Mr. Tanner say something about burned identities."

"Back to the briefing," Larabee said. The files and photos were passed to Standish for his quick and thorough perusal as JD caught him up by detailing their previous attempts to get access to the building.

"What do you think, Ez? You see a way in?" Tanner asked after a few moments of silence.

"There's something... odd here," the undercover agent mused. He flicked back through a few pictures. "The date and time stamps are accurate?"

Wilmington nodded. "Yep. Learned our lesson about setting the clock on the camera as a backup to the log on the Henderson case." A discrepancy had led to a paperwork avalanche as the correct timeline had to be established before the case went to court.

"In that case," Standish said, "explain to me how this gentleman—" he pointed to a man in the photo—"entered the building twice in two days."

"What? Well, I guess he had business there twice."

"No, Buck, that's not what I mean," Standish said. "With every other person in the photos, you have established when they entered and when they left. If the time stamp is correct, this man entered the building two days in a row, without ever leaving it."

"What?" Wilmington grabbed the photos back and started going through them again, with Dunne hanging over his shoulder. "Damn it."

They passed the relevant photos to Larabee and Tanner who studied the man's face and the time stamps.

"How did we miss that?" Dunne asked.

Standish blinked. "I would assume because you were working in shifts, Mr. Dunne. Any discrepancy wouldn't be noticed because the same person wasn't always watching and taking photographs. It would be assumed that someone else had taken the photo of the man leaving at some point."

"So did he come out and we just missed taking his picture?" Jackson asked.

"Once, maybe. Twice?" Sanchez said. "I don't think so."

"Who is it? Do we have an ID?"

"He looks familiar. I think that's Howard Delton. He does some loan sharking I think. Or something to do with gambling. Maybe both. We should with Denver PD. I know he's local. Don't remember exactly why but he does look familiar and I associate it with money laundering or something similar," Josiah explained.

"Okay, wait, guys. I don't get it. The front door is the only exit," Dunne protested. "Even to get to the parking garage, you have to come out the front to catch the garage elevator or stairs."

"Did you check the blueprints for the building?" Larabee asked. "Before we set up surveillance?"

The young man's eyes widened. "No. I'm sorry, Chris. Didn't think to."

"Why would you?" Wilmington demanded. "There are fire exits and fire escapes on the sides but from our position at the front of the building they're all in clear view from the van. We thought we had all the exits covered."

"I seriously doubt that the blueprints would show anything unusual," Standish remarked. "There's hardly a point in having a secret if you put it in the official records and blueprints that almost anyone could access from the city planning office. Rudy Masso has relatives in the construction business. I'm sure he had no problem installing some kind of special architectural features without it being officially noticed."

"Might be a good idea to find out who the city inspector was though," Sanchez replied. "Could be someone took a bribe."

"Or the construction was well timed and quickly done before inspections took place," Jackson added.

"Well, hell. They got a secret door or something so they can get in and out without us seeing. No wonder they aren't worried about us trying to get in." Wilmington ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Now what?"

Standish was still studying photographs. "Never mind getting in...we should turn our attention to getting information."

"They're a bunch of criminals, Ezra," Nathan admonished. "No one's gonna talk to us."

"Masso claims to be a legitimate business man. He has laundromats and shoe stores that cover his ass for his income, but doesn't that mean that he has to have some employees to actually handle the paperwork for those?" Larabee chimed in.

"What about the receptionist? She could get someone in."

"Naw, Nathan, she's Masso's niece. The security guys are family too," Vin replied.

"Meaning they have a vested interest in keeping the man's secrets," their undercover agent supplied. "Any other employees?"

"Maybe." Dunne quickly scanned through the photos and produced a couple that showed a woman exiting the building. "Her. She's the only one we haven't identified, but when I was in the lobby she went up to Masso's floor. I think she's the secretary or something. I don't think she's been working there long."

"What makes you say that, JD?"

"She's been doing touristy kinds of things on her lunch hour, Chris. I think she's new to town as well as to that place."

"Touristy things?" Jackson said with a puzzled frown.

"And how do you know that?" Larabee asked suspiciously.

Dunne wisely decided to close his mouth at this point and fought not to glance at Wilmington. He was learning.

However, Chris was more than familiar with what Buck might get up to when on a boring stakeout. "What did you do?"

"It's not like there was much going on—"

"Buck! Your orders were to observe, take photos for identification purposes, do reconnaissance, and to stay in the van." The Larabee Glare made its appearance.

"Now, Chris, it's not like—"

" _Stay in the van_ ," Larabee repeated, the little vein on his forehead was starting to throb.

This was noted by Tanner who elbowed Standish who'd already noticed anyway. "Reckon steam'll come out of his ears next?" the Texan muttered under his breath.

Standish stifled a chuckle, but the slight noise he made attracted Larabee's attention.

"You shut up," Chris snarled.

"I didn't speak, Mr. Larabee," Ezra protested. "However since you have now paused in your attempt to excoriate Mr. Wilmington, perhaps he or Mr. Dunne could be given permission to elucidate on what manner of surveillance they have performed on the young lady—while _not_ staying in the van."

Buck tried to defend himself. "One of us was in the van taking pictures all the time. We saw her go into the tourist information site near the park and pick up a couple of brochures and thought we might get a chance to talk to her away from the office. If it had worked, she might could have provided some information. Nothing else any of you tried has worked."

Nathan asked. "Do you know who she is?"

"Not exactly," JD said. "Petey didn't manage to—"

Buck didn't quite manage to kick the younger man's leg in time. He winced in anticipation of the coming explosion.

"Petey!" Vin said, sounding angry.

"You got Petey to steal her purse?" Sanchez said indignantly. "I've been trying for months to persuade the boy to give up his criminal activities and you encouraged it!"

Dunne pushed himself clear of Wilmington with a reproachful frown, as he rubbed his leg with one hand. "Knock it off, Buck. They asked. And no, Josiah, we weren't going to turn Petey loose on her. I followed her to the park and happened to run into Petey there. The idea was that Petey would steal her purse, I'd chase him down and get it back and once I had it in my hands, I could check for her identity before I took it back to her."

Standish looked almost impressed. "An interesting ploy—with Mr. Dunne as her hero, therefore opening a dialogue as well as gathering intel."

"Do not encourage them, Ezra," Larabee growled. "So it didn't work, why the hell not?"

"Because she's not as naive as she looks to be. I think she may be ex-military. She clocked Petey as he made his approach before he got closer than five feet away and then she stared him down. Scared him off without raising an eyebrow," Wilmington said, with a hint of admiration in his expression. "Then she spotted JD lurking and gave him a good stare too. Ran like a kid all the way back to the van."

"I did not!" Dunne yelped indignantly. "And even if my idea didn't work, you struck out too! So much for your animal maggotism, Buck. Maybe it wears off as you get old!"

"I'm not old -it does not—and it's magnetism, kid!" Wilmington was spluttering in his effort to make three protests at once.

Larabee settled back in his chair, his good humor mostly restored. "I have to hear this. What did the old dog try?"

Before Wilmington could decide how to word it, Dunne jumped in. "She was having lunch in an outdoor cafe just down the street from the office building—still close to the van, anyway, so I watched. He went over and got himself a coffee, then smoothed his mustache—" JD mimicked one of Buck's repeated gestures, put on a cheesy grin, and continued, "and went over to her table. He asked if he could join her and she looks up at him, gives him a nod, then as soon as he sat down and before he could start schmoozing, she stands up, waves her left hand in his direction and walked away. Didn't even smile at him. I couldn't hear what she said, but Buck struck out—on his first pitch. Ha! And that's not the best part!"

"What is the best part?" Chris asked, enjoying Buck's low simmer of anger and embarrassment.

"She stuck him with her check!" JD announced then laughed while moving out of range of his friend's long arm as he swatted at him.

"Mr. Wilmington," Ezra exclaimed, using his best 'shocked' tone. "What in the world did she say to you?"

"She's married," Wilmington said in a tight voice. "She was showing me her wedding ring."

"But what did she say?" Jackson insisted, with a grin. It was a very rare occasion for the ladies' man to get shut out completely. Most women at least were flattered and flirted with him when he made an approach.

"None of your business," Buck retorted. A stain of red was creeping up his neck.

"Are you blushing?" Chris smirked. "Never thought I'd see the day—"

"You shut up!"

Ezra smothered his chuckle and attempted to drag the discussion back on topic. "And so we still have no ID on this woman? If she was military—"

"Nope. Nothing came up on the databases from the facial recognition, so no matter what Buck says, she's not ex-military," Dunne replied.

"Or maybe your program didn't work," Wilmington snapped.

Before another argument could kick off, Tanner intervened. "Could be that she ain't but her husband is. Most times husbands make sure their wives are trained in self defense since they get left behind alone a lot of the time."

"Yeah, but without a name—"

"She could be some kind of operative for another agency. Undercover?" Jackson suggested.

"Her?" Dunne scoffed. "But look at her, Nate, she's so... ordinary." It was true the woman in question was so average in appearance as to almost blend into the background even as they tried to focus on her.

"Describe her, JD," Sanchez said.

"Average height, maybe 5'6", dark brown hair, short and wavy, wears business casual clothes, flat shoes not heels... uh... "

"Moderately attractive—not a beauty queen, but not plain or homely, and her makeup is understated. I would add that her clothing is a bit old-fashioned but not out of style, not expensive, but modest and not calling attention to her figure or herself in any way," said Standish. "In other words, she's not advertising herself as available or interested, which fits in with her telling Buck she's married."

"Nothing tight. Clothes she can move in," Tanner added. "She don't move like she's carrying a gun, but if she noticed Petey moving in on her, she's aware of what's going on around her and ready to defend herself."

"Which is just how a trained operative would present herself," Sanchez stated. "So are we sure no other agency is sticking their nose in here?"

"I'll look into it, but I doubt it. Not without letting me know. But just in case, we won't blow her cover if there is one. Anyone else have any bright ideas on how to find out who she is?" Larabee said.

There was a moment of silence. Then the dreaded Standish drawl was heard. "Evidently the rather indirect approach has failed. And the direct, flirtatious approach also failed."

"I'd like to see you do better," Wilmington mumbled, still a bit put out by having his lack of success delineated.

"Would you like to wager—"

"No betting on the job, Ezra," Larabee snapped. "What's your idea?"

"A direct approach. If she is not part of the villainy taking place, but an innocent worker, not a part of Masso's skullduggery—"

"And if she isn't innocent, she'd report your approach to him, which would just make things harder," Jackson suggested.

"Don't think it could get much harder. We can't get a foot in the door. Can't prove nothing now and no evidence for a warrant or much else," Vin said with a shrug. "But if she's an operative, we need to let her know we're on this and find out what she knows so we don't mess her assignment."

"Since she is playing the tourist during her lunch hours, I will make her acquaintance tomorrow," Ezra said casually.

"No bets!" Larabee demanded even as Wilmington and Jackson both opened their mouths. "Fine. Depending on what Ezra can get from her, we can plan from there. I don't see any point in keeping up the surveillance until we have a way in so all of you catch up on the paperwork you're behind on—and don't lie to me and tell me you're caught up. Expense reports were due yesterday and I stalled the accounting department because you were supposedly _in the van_. Since you aren't there for the rest of the day, catch up. Ezra, you go home and get some rest. Your paperwork is up to date and you're still officially on leave since your little trip to see Maude was cut short. And no, you're right, I don't want to know why."

They all stood and shuffled out of the office, Tanner muttering under his breath, "Cowboy gets awful bossy when he's stuck in the office."

It seemed that today's venue for lunch time entertainment was the Denver Art Museum. Standish followed the lady at a discreet distance, giving her a chance to get ahead of him after paying admission.

She seemed to know what she liked and didn't waste time on things she didn't care for, moving through several galleries with barely a pause. When she got to the Western America art gallery, she slowed down and took her time. She lingered as she studied each Remington sculpture, no doubt appreciating as Ezra did the sense of movement and history captured in bronze in exquisite detail.

He waited to make his move until she'd seated herself on a bench in front of the Jacobshagen canvas titled "By June the Light Begins to Breathe" and settled in as if planning to stay a while.

He moved past her bench to take a closer look at the painting, then stepped back as if just noticing her presence. "Pardon me. I didn't mean to block your view. I do like the contrast between the greens of the land and the blues of the sky, don't you?"

She didn't answer but just blinked her eyes twice and studied him. She was one of the most placid women he'd ever encountered, seeming to be observing everything and everyone around her with interest and a calm expression that gave away nothing of her feelings.

Standish indicated the other end of the bench. "Do you mind?"

Her head tilted just slightly to the right. "Not at all." She had a quiet, gentle voice and traces of a Southern accent. Her accent had become diluted by moving around the country or a deliberate effort to minimize it. She wasn't giving much away but possibly she was always on her guard around people—or men—she didn't know.

He sat down, judging the distance carefully so he was far enough away from her that it was non-threatening but close enough for quiet conversation. "I like clouds," he added, confidingly. "Not every artist can capture their airiness or texture properly."

"Then I assume you're a fan of Bierstadt?" she responded.

It was a test to see if he knew what he was talking about or was just blowing smoke. Standish responded with a slight smile. "To a degree. Storm in the Mountains is evocative but many of his paintings are more about the landscape than the sky."

They sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating the oil painting on the wall. She turned a bit sideways on the bench so she was more or less facing him. "So are they sending in the A Team now?"

"I beg your pardon?" He put on his most innocent look, widening green eyes and managing to look harmless if one didn't look too closely—or know any better.

She was looking very closely however. "Well, I will say whoever is behind this is getting a bit closer to my 'type' with you." She closed her lips firmly to prevent a smile escaping.

Oh, she's good, Ezra thought. Changing the rules here yet again. Confrontation and challenge. He adjusted his posture and his expression and gave up the pretense entirely. It wasn't working any way. "Really? Inadvertent, I assure you, given our lack of intelligence on you or your tastes. May I ask how you knew-"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Please, was I going to assume all this sudden interest from men on the streets was because they were overcome by my stunning beauty and couldn't resist trying it on?"

Ezra knew she was expecting him to tell her she was beautiful or some other bit of flattery so he went the other direction. "No, I doubt a woman of your intelligence would be so misled even if flattered with false declarations. You are not beautiful and you are self aware enough to know that."

He'd managed to surprise her but also amuse her. She bit her lip to keep back a laugh. "Good to know but you never know until you try. Most women like to be flattered," she said calmly.

"You do have lovely eyes," he added, leaning in just a tad to peruse them. "Nice shape, dark brown with a hint of a lighter brown—"

"Beep, beep," she said with a high pitch.

"May I ask what that noise is meant to indicate?" he asked politely.

"That's my bullshit detector—if you'll pardon my French. You just set it off. And you were doing so well talking about art," she said mournfully.

"And you have just proven my point. You are intelligent but unreasonably suspicious to think I do not honestly admire your eyes."

"Thank you. I appreciate your appraisal though why you think I would value your opinion—"

"I don't. We are evidently engaged in preliminary exchanges to move us forward into acquaintance, which perhaps—"

Without a word, she held up the back of her left hand towards him and used her right index finger to point at her wedding ring.

"White gold and platinum with a small strip of diamonds embedded," he remarked. "Good idea. Mountings that rise above the ring surface tend to snag in material or bump into –"

She smothered another smile. "I don't need an appraisal of my ring either. Just note its presence and its meaning. I am very happily married. I said you were closer to my type than the other two, but that doesn't mean—"

"Do you always respond to a question that hasn't been asked?"

"Do you ever respond to a question at all?"

"You haven't asked one," he rebuked.

"Fine. What do you want?" Direct and to the point.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Ezra said with a smirk. "Do you work for Rudy Masso?"

She frowned at him. "You didn't answer my question. Why should I answer yours?"

"It's relevant. If you work in the building, but not for Masso I don't need to talk to you at all. If you work for Masso, how much I tell you depends on what you know and to what degree you're involved in his business." He waited, knowing she wouldn't be rushed.

After a moment, she sighed, fiddling with her wedding ring with her right hand in the first sign of nervousness that Standish had seen. "Aw hell. He is a crook, isn't he?" She sounded disappointed but not shocked.

"Yes, he is."

"You're law enforcement?" she asked, eyeing his expensive green suit dubiously. "Not local cops or FBI obviously."

"Are you law enforcement?"

She shook her head. "No. As of now, I'm just a bookkeeper. Damn it. I need this job, the pay's good, but if there's going to be a bust I don't need to be caught up in that."

Standish held up a hand. "Let's not be too hasty. My colleagues and I were hoping you could provide us with information. Any help you could give—"

She glanced at her watch. "Fine, but I'm running out of time right now. I can meet you after work if you like and I'll let you pick my brains."

"There shouldn't be any danger, but don't do anything to arouse suspicions when you return to work," Ezra cautioned.

"It won't be a problem. Mr. Masso and the others think I'm a Dumb Dora."

"A what?"

She widened her eyes, batted her lashes, and spoke in a childish voice much younger than her own. "But I don't understand... you can't make more copy paper by making copies on the copier?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Honestly?"

"I don't know what these letters mean. I only look at the numbers. Gee, do I need to know?"

"He fell for that?"

She returned to her normal voice and manner. "Some men see what they want to see. He wanted someone who can do the bookkeeping, isn't too bright, and won't ask questions. I gave him what he wanted because the paycheck was attractive. I was hoping he was just a misogynistic idiot and not a crook."

"We can go into details later." He handed her one of Inez's business cards with the address for The Saloon. "Meet me here around 6 for dinner and a debriefing. There's a private room in the back and the food is excellent, by the way."

She tucked the card into her small handbag and got to her feet. "See you then."

As she started to walk away, Ezra said, "Wait! I never got your name!"

She smiled at him and called over her shoulder. "I never got yours either. Mine is Eleanor. Eleanor Merrill. Mrs. Joseph F. Merrill."

"When you get to The Saloon, ask for Ezra."

She nodded without asking for further information and went on her way.

Team Seven had arrived early and taken over the back room. While waiting for their guest, the rest of the team was listening to the tape Standish had made of their encounter, while JD was searching for information on his laptop as they now had her name.

The group stifled their laughter at the exchanges between the lady and their undercover agent, but Larabee managed to keep everyone mostly quiet until the tape ran out.

Buck immediately exploded in indignation. "What the hell does that mean? You're closer to her type than I am?"

Standish shrugged gracefully. "I have no idea. Perhaps she prefers a more sophisticated—"

"Sophisticated my ass!"

"A cogent argument—"

"I think I know why," JD interrupted. "Look at this." He spun his laptop around on the table to show them the picture displayed there of a man in an Army uniform. He bore a slight resemblance to Ezra in coloring and facial shape, discounting the uniform and the regulation haircut as factors. Anyone could be forgiven for assuming the two men were brothers, or perhaps cousins. "This is her husband. Sergeant Joseph Fredrick Merrill."

"What have you got on her, JD?" Larabee asked, calling his men back to order.

"Eleanor Merrill, age 32, worked for the Cameron Temp Agency as an administrative assistant up until about three weeks ago when she took the job with Masso as a bookkeeper. She's not military but her dad was an Army officer and then a Texas Ranger. Her mom was a school teacher. No criminal record, but get this," JD sounded excited, "nine years ago, she got a citation from the Ft. Worth Police Department for helping them catch a serial rapist. She was working as a bartender and caught the guy red-handed dropping a roofie in a girl's drink. She swiped the drink and saved it for evidence then took the guy down." He started to smile. "And the idiot was busted for sixteen rapes because he was keeping souvenir photos on his phone. She restrained him and kept him from deleting them, and held him until the cops showed up to take him into custody."

"Just when you think criminals can't get any dumber," Jackson said sadly. "But thank God, they do."

"Amen, Brother."

"Told ya she knew how to handle herself," Tanner stated. "Her daddy probably trained her."

It was at this point that Inez ushered Eleanor into the doorway to the back room. "I feel outnumbered," she murmured to her hostess, taking in the sight of not one or two, but seven men waiting for her. "This is almost as bad as the family reunion. My dad was one of nine, eight of them boys."

Inez patted her shoulder. "They have that effect on everyone. Mostly they are very nice men, unless you are a criminal." She turned her attention to the Seven, who were all on their feet as the ladies approached. "Behave yourselves. I will get you a menu and come take your orders in a few minutes."

Ezra stepped forward to make introductions. "Mrs. Merrill, may I present Team Seven of the ATF."

"ATF? Okay, I didn't see that coming," she remarked calmly.

Larabee stepped forward. "Special Agent in Charge Chris Larabee." He offered his hand for a brisk shake. He noted that she had no problem meeting his eyes and inspected him just as much as he was evaluating her.

"I told ya we didn't all need to come," Tanner was heard to mutter. He stepped forward next. "Vin Tanner, ma'am." He didn't offer a hand, coming to stand behind Larabee.

"Nathan Jackson," Ezra said, gesturing to the men as he named them as they were standing behind the table furthest from the door. "Josiah Sanchez. You have already, more or less, met Buck Wilmington and JD Dunne, and I am Ezra Standish."

"Ma'am," JD said with a grin, "could you tell us what you said to Buck? It sure seemed to fluster him whatever it was."

"No." When the boy stared at her brief reply, she added, "That encounter was between the two of us and I will not give you information that you will use to tease him. By the way, Buck, was it? Thank you for paying for my lunch. I really shouldn't have left with taking care of the check."

Buck stepped forward and took her hand in his, not shaking it just holding it. "It was my pleasure, ma'am. I'd also like to apologize—"

"That's not necessary," she assured him. "I was in a bad mood because I was really missing my husband at that moment. It was a matter of bad timing, not so much what you said."

The others were trying to pretend they weren't listening even as Buck dropped to a quieter tone as he added, "The way you answered—you reminded me of my mama. She'd have said exactly the same thing. I thank you for that memory."

"You're welcome then, Buck. Now, gentlemen," she said briskly, "is the interrogation to take place before or after the meal?"

"Afterward, of course," Standish replied, escorting to the chair between his own and Buck's. "It's uncivilized to keep a lady waiting for sustenance after a long, hard day. And by the way, since you are quite likely to lose this job working for Masso, either due to his arrest or your resignation, I made inquiries of a friend and you might wish to apply at the Federal Building. Tessa Tidwell would be happy to advise you."

"Thank you, Ezra. I would definitely prefer to work in a more stable environment and law enforcement is rather more my milieu than working for a criminal, let alone a criminal who is something of a moron." She smiled mischievously.

JD scrambled to put away his laptop and the files to make room for incoming orders of drinks and food.

Eleanor had the rare gift of silence along with poise. She felt no need to fill the silence with chatter or small talk, but settled in with a smile and looked around the table at the Seven. "Gentlemen, tell me a bit about yourselves."


End file.
